One Same Dream
by SantaFe-Cowboy
Summary: A girl newsie, yes A GIRL newsie joins the Manhattans right before the start of the strike. Her name is Star, and she is definetely the star of some Newsie conflicts. Follows same general plotline as the movie. StarJack fic.


THIS IS MY FIRST NEWSIES FIC, SO BE NICE! Now that that's been said, I gots ta say one last thin'. There will be none of the songs in this fic, except for Santa Fe, because it's a major plot point the way I'm doing it. Got it? YAY!!! Disclaimer: In this sad, sad world we call reality, I do not own Newsies, sob, and even if I scream JACK IS MINE!!! In all capital letters, he is not mine mutters; yes he is and belongs to Disney. Onto the Fic  
  
Chapter one  
  
A tall, brown-haired boy stood uneasily by the backstage stairs of Irving Hall. Just then, a red haired, middle aged woman, in a purple dress no less gorgeous than she was joined him, walking down the stairs.  
  
"Oh, 'ello Medda. How you been?"  
  
Medda twirled her fan expertly. "I'm well Kelley, thank you. I had a question for you, though."  
  
Jack smiled. "You know I'd do anythin' for ya, Medda."  
  
A sweet dimple spread across Medda's pink cheek. "Oh, I knew I could count on you, Kelley. Celia!!!" A tall, pretty girl with a bit longer than shoulder length, golden brown hair appeared from the stage stairs. She turned her green eyes towards Medda's garish figure.  
  
"You called?" A roguish look crossed her face. "'ello there, mistah," she said politely to Kelley.  
  
"Jack, this is Celia. Celia, this is Jack Kelley, the best newsie of all Manhattan."  
  
Celia spat on her hand and held it out towards Jack, who, with a moment's pause, spat on his and shook.  
  
"Celia here is an orphan, fresh from the Refuge. She used to be a newsie before she was taken to that lovely orphanage." Medda looked innocently at Jack. "Now, Jack, about that favor..."  
  
"Yeah, Medda?"  
  
"Well, you see, Celia don't have nowhere to stay, and seeing as she was a newsie and all, I was thinking you could help her out..."  
  
Jack turned an assessing eye to Celia. "Well, sure I will, Medda. She can come stay wid us at da lodging 'ouse."  
  
The light from the smile on Medda's face almost illuminated the dark room. "Oh, thank ye, Jack. Now, if you'll both be going, I have a play to stage. Excuse me." She turned, her purple skirt sweeping the floor gracefully.  
  
The two Newsies stood, silent, in the darkness of backstage. "Well," Jack broke the silence. "You got a newsie name?"  
  
"Ya.....the Brooklyns used ta call me Flash."  
  
"Flash? Why Flash?"  
  
"It may have had somethin' to do wid me temper."  
  
Jack chuckled. "We'd best be getting back to da lodging 'ouse. Follow me."  
  
"Hold on a bit, I gots ta get me bag." Celia ran over to the stairs and pulled out a worn and patched tweed bag from underneath them. Then she walked back over to Jack, who, surprisingly, linked arms with a her. Then he led her out the doorframe into the moonlit streets of Manhattan. "You're gonna need a better name den Flash. Eh, we'll think a somethin'."  
  
A few minutes passed in silence, Jack's long steps eating up the cobblestones as Celia surreptitiously tried to keep up.  
  
"You a cowboy?"  
  
Jack stopped suddenly, jerking Celia around in a circle. "How d'ya know me name?"  
  
"The hat kinda gave it away."  
  
"Aw, this ole thin'. Nah, I ain't a cowboy, yet."  
  
"You wanna go out west, huh?"  
  
Jack stared at her suspiciously.  
  
"Well, there ain't many Newsies who'll wear a cowboy 'at."  
  
"Too true, miss. Com'on, we best be going." Jack started walking away, Celia following behind him. "So where you wanta go in the west?"  
  
Jack spared her a glance. "Santa Fe."  
  
"Nice town, that 'un."  
  
"You been there?" He said amazedly.  
  
"Ya. Going back one day."  
  
"We kin hitch a train together one day. Get 'way from da city."  
  
"Sure, Cowboy, why not."  
  
Rounding the last corner, Jack stopped by the Newsboys Lodging House. "Welcome to me fine abode." Taking the steps two at a time, he stood waiting for Celia at the top. A puddle of moonlight slid over her, giving her a little halo.  
  
Jack sucked in a deep breathe. "You really are a goil! An' a pretty one at dat!"  
  
"No, my parents was cruel and decoided to name their son Celia. Oh course I'm a goil, you idiot!"  
  
Jack shook his head, and opened the door. A wave of sound hit Celia, and the sight of twenty or so teenage boys running around the common room caused her eyes to widen dangerously.  
  
One of the boys felt the cold draft from the door, and turned. "Oy, chums, Jack is back! And 'e brought a purty goil wid 'im!"  
  
Silence, then a mob of Newsies almost bowled the two kids over.  
  
"'Old it chaps, 'old it! We gotsa lady in the house!" Immediately, caps were swept off heads, and held respectfully by their hearts.  
  
"Sorry, Cowboy," the Newsies all mumbled.  
  
"That's better. Now git, all o' ya, go t' sleep!" The Newsies turned obediently, taking sneak glances at Celia as they turned and walked up the stairs. "Well, dat went well. C'mon, let's get ya a bunk." Cowboy followed the Newsies up the stairs, beckoning Celia to follow him. Up two flights of stairs, there was a large room, filled with row upon row of bunk beds. Jack stood waiting. "Now, dis," he said, slinging an arm around Celia's waist. "Dis is our foine lodging quarters, and here," he tapped a top bunk, "Is where you sleep. Roight 'cross from me."  
  
"Ahh, right 'den." Most of the Newsies were already in their beds, so Celia jumped into hers. Jack turned and went to talk to Dutchy, the boy sleeping under his bunk, when a small hand tugged Celia's leg. A young boy of about eight stared up at her, eyes wide.  
  
"Miss," he whispered. "I had a nightmare. I can't sleep." There was something about young children always finding the ONLY girl in the room in mere seconds.  
  
Jack turned at the whisper. "Oy, Tumbler, leave me goil alone." Celia raised an eyebrow, and turned back to Tumbler. "Did you want me to help you go back to sleep?" He nodded.  
  
"Can ya sing me a lull'by, miss?" Tumbler pleaded. Jack smiled expectantly, pinning Celia with his gaze. "Ya, miss, sing fa us."  
  
Clamors of agreement rang across the room.  
  
"But...I don't.....I just..."  
  
"Please miss?"  
  
Celia sighed. Singing wasn't her strong point. "Alright, go sit on your bunks. All of you," she added, glaring at Jack, who only smiled back innocently.  
  
She turned, saw all the faces looking at her, turned back, stared at the ground, and took a deep breathe. Thinking for a minute, she realized she only knew one lullaby, so she gave it her best shot.  
  
Duerme, niño chiquito  
  
Duerme, mi alma;  
  
Duérmete estrellita  
  
De la mañana.  
  
Sleep my little babe  
  
Sleep my precious soul;  
  
Sleep all through the night  
  
My little morning star.  
  
Her voice cracked on the loud note, snapping her back in awareness, only to see twenty pairs of eyes staring at her.  
  
"Dat was beautiful miss. Thank 'ou." Clamors of agreement rang across the room. Tumbler smiled happily. He turned back to his bed, and to all pretenses, fell asleep.  
  
Celia buried her head in her pillow, too embarrassed to do anything else. She was so focused on blocking out all sights and sounds that she didn't even hear the floorboards creaking by her bunk. The tap on her shoulder startled her so much that she almost cracked her neck turning to see who was there.  
  
Jack's head on his hands, he was leaning on her bunk, grinning. "Estrella," he said slowly. "That means star, don't it?"  
  
"Yeah, so?"  
  
"It's poifect."  
  
"Fa what?"  
  
The grin on his face widened even more, if that was possible. "Your name, o' course. Noight, Star." He turned and swung onto his bunk.  
  
"But....that's....you can't.....ergghhhh!" Celia buried her face in the pillow again.  
  
Next Morning  
  
"C'mon boys, 'urry it up, we gots papes ta sell!" Jack was yelling loudly from pretty close to Star's head. Assorted yawns and groans sounded, but all the Newsies got up and headed for the bathrooms, Jack included.  
  
Star thought it was probably in her best interest if she didn't follow. She decided to hastily finger comb her hair and sat waiting on the edge of her bunk. About ten minutes and a lot of shouts later, the Newsies massed out and clomped down the stairs.  
  
Star followed, stretching sleepily. The boys were all ready to go, and many of them practically ran towards a large, rusty iron gate with "The World" written across it. Far too tired to do anything except follow, Star stood behind the growing mob of Newsies by the gates, waiting.  
  
A few minutes passed, the gates still not opening. Finally, Jack and one of the other Newsies she thought was called Kid Blink jumped up on the gate, yelling loudly. "Oy, Weasel! Open da gates, Weasel!"  
  
A small, glass door slammed as a plump man in a striped apron bustled out the door, glaring at Jack. "I'm coming, 'old yer horses!"  
  
"Good ole Weasel." Blink snickered as Weasel fumbled with the gate, struggling to pull it open.  
  
"Hurry up and get out o' here, wise guy." The gates swung open, and all the Newsies lined up by the door, making way for Cowboy at the front. Star, of course, ended up at the back.  
  
Jack, who seemed to have Extra Sensory Perception about the location of every Newsie in New York noticed her at the back of the line. "Hey, boys, ladies first!"  
  
"Awwwww, Jack"-  
  
"You 'eard me, now move it!"  
  
The line parted and Star, after some hesitation, joined Jack at the front.  
  
"Go on, Star, you cin go foist."  
  
"..ermm...thanks..." Star turned to Weasel. "Hundred papes, please," she said confidently as she slapped a half dollar on the counter.  
  
"Well, ain't we ambitious. 'Undred papes for the new goil." Weasel yelled back to the shadows behind him. A swarthy boy in a bowler hat swaggered up with a stack of papers in his hand. He was about to put them down when he spotted Star standing in front of him. "Why, 'ello there, missy. So youse da Newsies new doll, huh?" Footsteps cracked threateningly behind Star, and a strong arm slipped around her waist.  
  
"You leave me goil alone, Oscar."  
  
Star didn't even need to turn her head around to know that none other than Jack was standing next to her. He was getting quite a few misconceptions about her. But, for some VERY odd reason, now didn't seem like the best time to correct them.  
  
"Whatever, Jacky boy. Just take youse papes and beat it." He turned to Star. "I'll be seeing youse later."  
  
Star tried very, very hard to keep the look of revulsion off her face. She failed miserably.  
  
Jack bought his papers- a hundred also- and went to sit with Star and Racetrack, who were reading the headlines.  
  
"Fourth 'orse at Sheepshead found cheatin', hundreds lose money bet on.........that explains a lot," Racetrack said grimly.  
  
"So, Star," Jack said as he sat down next to her, looping an arm loosely around her waist AGAIN. "Where ya gonna sell taday?"  
  
Star hefted the pile of papers in her hand. "Prolly round the east dock or- ...I ain't Brooklyn no more. Dammit...Ummm....I'll just wander around near da lodging 'ouse...ya..."  
  
"That's crazy. Youse kin come sell wid me t'day."  
  
Racetrack turned an incredulous gaze towards Star. "Youse, selling papes? That's a joke. You won't sell fifty."  
  
Jack opened his mouth, probably to defend her- ever the martyr, aren't we Jack?- and Star clapped her hand over it. "You wanna bet on dat, Racetrack?"  
  
He perked up at the word 'bet'. "Ya, I does. Wat odds?"  
  
"One ta two."  
  
"Ain't we confident. 'Ow much?"  
  
"Two bits."  
  
Ractrack whistled. "Youse funeral." He spat on his hand and held it out. "Deal?"  
  
Star spat on the hand that wasn't covering Jack's mouth and shook. "Deal." She grabbed her papes with both hands and stood up. "I'd be going now, den."  
  
"Aw, Star, remember? Youse gets ta sell wid me t'day." Jack put an arm around her shoulders. "Let's go down by da market, eh?" He pulled Star towards the gate, leaving the other Newsies behind, and turned left. They walked in silence for a few minutes, stopping finally by a crowded boxing ring in the middle of square. "Here we is." Cowboy eyed the stack of papes under her arm. "Youse gonna need some 'elp wid all those?"  
  
Star smiled innocently. "No, I be fine, thanks." Wouldn't he and Racetrack be surprised. She turned to a group of elderly men to her right. "Well, wouldn't a 'andsome group of men such as yourselves loike a pape? Being as intelligent as youse look, I'm sure y'all would loike ta hear 'bout the news on the-" she paused, looking at the front page. "-Trolley strike."  
  
Being as disgusting and perverted as these men looked, they all eyed her hungrily and bought a paper apiece. Fifteen down, eight five to go. She turned back to look at Jack with a wide eyed smile. "I guess I ain't as rusty as I thought."  
  
Turning to another group of spectators, this time a bunch of younger women, she smiled pleasantly. "Wouldn't all you lovely ladies loike ta hear the latest news on Guvner Roosevelt. I hear he's quite a handsome man." The ladies looked speculatively at her, their grabbed for a paper each. Twenty pennies made their way into Stars pocket.  
  
Jack, on the other hand, sold his papes by flipping through the paper, finding a random headline, exaggerating it greatly, and screaming it at the top of his lungs. Then he moved onto the next story. Overall, it worked pretty well....it was just so.....tactless...shudder.  
  
Just before twilight, Star sat on a flimsy bench; having sold all her papers already, and watched Jack sell his last fifteen. He walked over where she sat, breathless, and sat down, somewhat exhausted. He got an amused glance from Star, who sat, breathing calmly in the shade, perfectly comfortable. "Well, I'd say that were pretty good."  
  
"Yeah, great woirk dere. Youse real good." Jack stopped panting slightly, his mussed hair covering his eyes. He smiled crookedly.  
  
Star smiled back, unable to look away from his face. 'He's pretty 'andsome- what am I thinking!? ......Bad brain, Bad brain!...Oh no...What would Brooklyn tink, one of their own fancyin' the Manhattan leader?'  
  
"We should prolly be going now, huh?" Standing up and pulling on his hat, Jack offered a hand to Star, helping her up. She took it, stood up, tripped over her feet, and bumped into Jack. He steadied her and put an arm around her waist to keep her from falling0, and they started walking back down the street. The coins in Star's pocket jingled comfortingly, and Star noticed Jack's arm hadn't been removed from her waist...and she really didn't mind all that much.  
  
"Hey, Jack, how'd it go?"  
  
"Fine, Race, 'ow were the tracks?"  
  
"Foine, foine. Well, Star, you got me money?"  
  
Smiling wickedly, Star reached into her pocket and pulled out her earnings. Counting them up out loud for Racetrack's benefit, she turned to him, feigning sadness. "Well, Race, ya see, I gotsa dollar 'ere in me hand. That means I sold all me papes...all 'undred o' them. Wait, don't that mean YOUSE owes ME a dollah, looking at da odds."  
  
Racetrack blinked. "Oh...really..."  
  
"You ain't gots it, do ya?"  
  
"I don't tink he was planning on you winning, were ya, Race?"  
  
"Not 'xactly."  
  
A smug smile crossed Star's face. "Well, you learned your lesson, didn't ya, Race? I'll call it even...if youse...wears a poink hat for da rest o' da night."  
  
He nodded reluctantly. "But, whose gots a poink hat?" He said stubbornly.  
  
"I does, from Medda. Got it? Oh, good. Let's go inside, den, shall we?" 


End file.
